


Waltz Through My Bloodstream

by theinvisibledisaster



Series: 666 Fics [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, Bellamy is technically in line for the throne, Diyoza as Queen Clarisse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, It makes sense, Kinda, Pike as the Viscount, Princess Clarke Griffin, Shaw as the nice prince she gets engaged to, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Wells and Murphy are Lilly, and also as Joe, but like... he doesn't want it, he just wants clarke, idiots to lovers, oh yeah that's the stuff, princess diaries 2 au, right after, that's my second favourite tag laydeez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: “Nearly all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes will be there, so you’ll be able to get a better idea of who you want as a partner.”“I still don’t understand why I have to be married to take the throne.” She said, igniting the same argument they’d been having for weeks.“Neither do I, Clarke, but welcome to historic misogyny.” She thumbed through the catering list. “You’re lucky we managed to find the loophole that lets you marry a woman - at least your options are more open than mine were.”The Princess Diaries 2 AU that everyone kept asking me about, in four neat installments!





	1. Another Magical Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

> I spent ages thinking over who should be Clarisse and who should be Joe, until I finally stumbled on the correct answer - what do you get when you blend a boss ass queen with a badass guard? 
> 
> CHARMAINE DIYOZA.
> 
> So in this version of events, the king is dead and Diyoza is the queen but she trained herself to be her own bodyguard so she knows what's all the way up. 
> 
> The title comes from Flowerball by The Wombats and honestly i'm not sure how I haven't already named every fic after a Wombats song because I fucking love them, but I'm remedying that now!!
> 
> Each of the four chapters is dedicated to one of my tumblr mutuals who jumped in my askbox for my 666 Follower Celebration and picked this AU from my list of WIPs. Bless y'all for kicking my butt into gear and getting me to write this, I hope you like it!!
> 
> Anyway, this was a blast to write, I'm almost sorry it's so short. I hope you like it cuties! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke meets Bellamy and things don't go exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@loveisalwayswise](https://loveisalwayswise.tumblr.com/) was the first to leap into my askbox asking for my Princess Diaries 2 AU, so this first chapter is dedicated to her, the absolute legend that she is. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from Pink Lemonade by The Wombats
> 
> I hope y'all like it!!

Clarke drummed her fingers against the desk, trying to sit up straight and be ladylike, but brimming over with frustration. In less than a year, she would either have to take the throne or abdicate it to the nearest male heir, and she wanted to roll her eyes every time she thought about it.

“Don’t even think about it.” The queen said, pointing at her sternly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re rolling your eyes, I can see it.”

“Am not.”

“Just because you’re not rolling them on the outside doesn’t mean I can’t see it, Clarke.” She said, folding her arms, and Clarke scrunched up her nose at her.

They were sitting in one of the castle’s many drawing rooms, going over the etiquette for her birthday dinner that evening. Her actual birthday celebration with her family was supposed to be happening on Saturday - her mom and her friends were flying in - but the Official Arkadian Birthday Celebration was happening that night in the castle. It was important that she acted ladylike and put her best foot forward.

“...and nearly all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes will be there, so you’ll be able to get a better idea of who you want as a partner.”

“I still don’t understand why I have to be married to take the throne.” She said, igniting the same argument they’d been having for weeks.

“Neither do I, Clarke, but welcome to historic misogyny.” She thumbed through the catering list. “You’re lucky we managed to find the loophole that lets you marry a woman - at least your options are more open than mine were.”

“Yours worked out in the end.” Clarke said, quiet, and Diyoza smiled. Her first husband, a marriage of convenience, had died a decade earlier, and she’d spent the rest of her reign leading the country completely on her own. She clearly preferred it that way, even attending guard training so she could get around with less of an entourage on her heels. It wasn’t often that an illustrious queen kept a beretta strapped to her thigh, but Diyoza was unique like that.

“Maybe we can have you marry that god-awful president and then have him assassinated; kill two birds with one stone?” She quipped.

“He’s married.”

“Too bad, would have been a match made in heaven.” She deadpanned.

“At least they have a democracy.” Clarke complained.

Diyoza tutted. “We have a parliament and a senate and I take the public into account before I make any decision, and you think _they_ have it better than Arkadia?”

“...no.”

“Good.” She said, eyebrow raised in that way she always did when Clarke did something she disapproved of. “Look, I know this is moronic and sexist and archaic, but you turn 21 in just over a year, and you have to be married before then, or you won’t ascend to the throne.”

“I didn’t even know I was royalty until I was sixteen, and now I have to change the course of my entire life just because a dusty old book says so?”

“That’s the foundation for every religion my dear.”

Clarke groaned.

“Look, it’s just for tonight. Your real birthday party will be smaller, with better cake and less politicians, but just for now, you need to get dressed up and perform for the country, okay?” She said, and it was her serious voice now, which, while only marginally different from her joking tone, made Clarke instinctively sit up a little straighter.

She drummed her finger against the desk and tried not to groan again. “Fine. But I refuse to enjoy myself.”

“Wouldn’t ask you to.” She snorted. “Get some glass slippers on, Cinderella.”

“I hate you.”

* * *

She was almost ready, hair still half-done and shoes waiting by the bed, when there was a knock at her door. Thinking it was one of the footmen - hopefully Monty or Jasper, because they were her closest friends in the palace - she called out that it was unlocked.

She’d barely turned around all the way before she was barrelled into, stumbling back until her feet lifted off the floor entirely and she realised that the force had picked her up. When her bearings returned, she discovered that it wasn’t just one something, it was two.

“Wells?! Murphy?!” She gasped. “What are you doing here?!”

Wells, on her left, grinned up at her. “The Queen invited us.”

“But you’re not supposed to be here until next weekend!”

“Apparently she figured you just couldn’t survive that long without me.” Murphy deadpanned, and she smacked him on the shoulder.

They put her down so she could hug each of them properly, and sat down on the edge of her bed together, catching up on the months they’d been apart. Niylah - Murphy’s sister, and Clarke’s first real love, (because the trainwrecks that were Finn and Lexa in middle school decidedly didn’t count) was off in Africa doing relief work, and Clarke was happy for her. She was glad they’d stayed friends after the breakup; it would have been weird not to have her as a friend, not to mention family dinners at the Murphy’s place would probably have gotten awkward otherwise.

“So, we heard about the marriage thing.” Wells said after a few minutes, dropping it in with an air of false casualness that made Murphy choke on a laugh.

“King of subtlety.”

“Shut up, how would _you_ have slipped something like that into conversation?” He asked.

Murphy shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“What does that even _mean?”_

“It means I’m just better than you Jaha; it’s been years now, I think it’s time you just accepted it.”

Wells tutted. _“Anyway_, how are you holding up Clarke?”

She sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll meet someone tonight and fall head over heels, and then worrying about which person would be right for the kingdom wouldn’t even matter and I could go back to worrying about how to manage tax reform and international trading the way normal twenty-year-olds do.”

Murphy snorted. “Maybe worrying about husbands is a good thing - at least gets your mind off the fact that you’ll be running an entire country in a year.”

“Frying pan, meet fire.” She mumbled.

She had a feeling her best friends were exchanging looks over her head, but she didn’t have a chance to check because there was a polite knock at her door and then Monty and Jasper poked their heads in. “Party starts in ten minutes, Princess.”

“Thanks guys, we’ll be right out.” She said. “I’ll save some punch for you.”

“No need, the staff have our own batch in the kitchen.” Monty said.

“And guess who spiked it with rum?” Jasper pointed at himself emphatically with both thumbs.

That, at least, brought a smile to Clarke’s lips. “Well, you’ll be having more fun than me then.”

“We always do.” Jasper and Monty self-fived and then ducked back out of the room. Clarke often wondered if she was the only person they acted that unprofessionally around, and what a member of the senate would do if they had overheard such a conversation. It didn’t bear thinking about - those two were the best thing about the palace and she couldn’t imagine it without them.

“Okay!” Wells clapped his hands together while Murphy dragged her to her feet. “Time to brave the frying pan.”

* * *

The celebration wasn’t as bad as she thought it’d be.

It was still stuffy and full of people twice her age that she had to memorize the names of, and the music was too quiet, and the hors d'oeuvres trays didn’t come around anywhere near as often as she’d like, but it was okay.

She ended up dancing with a few perfectly respectable people, and met a nice princess named Harper that she mentally added to the checklist of potential spouses, who she chatted to for twenty minutes until a young duke came up and dragged her back onto the dancefloor.

She was being passed around so much that she was beginning to lose her bearings, which is why she practically _fell_ into the arms of the next person she was handed to, saved from hitting the floor only by his quick wits and two strong arms around her waist.

“Sorry.” She said, breathless, taking him in. He was taller than her, and his hair was slicked back, but she could that there were curls peeking through and she wondered what it looked like naturally. She could feel his muscles pressed up against her and she swallowed, taking a step back and holding her arms up properly. He took them and they started to dance.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess.” He smiled, and for some reason when he called her that, it felt less like a title and more like a pet name. She wasn’t sure if she liked it that way or not.

“You know me, but I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Everyone knows you.” He pointed out. She raised an eyebrow in response - something she’d learned from the queen, and he broke. “I’m Bellamy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

He spun her out and back in. “The feeling’s mutual, Princess.”

“You weren’t in the catalogue of princes I was shown.” She remarked cheekily. “So either you’re a politician of some kind, or you’re a gatecrasher.”

“Oh, gatecrasher, definitely.” He said, grinning.

Clarke returned the smile. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“I appreciate that.” He hummed along in time with the band. “Are you enjoying your birthday celebrations?”

She shrugged in as ladylike a fashion as she could, making sure the smile never dropped from her face. “Of course.”

“So you hate it?”

“You said it, not me.”

His eyes sparkled with mirth. “What would you rather be doing?”

“Reading, drawing, perfecting my battleships game,” she listed off, making him laugh. “I get the feeling you don’t like this sort of thing either. What would _you_ rather be doing?”

“Honestly, I’m not very interesting. I’d probably prefer a documentary and a nice cup of coffee to champagne and waltzing.” He dipped her. “Not that you’re not a good partner though.”

“I live to serve.” She said airily as he lifted her back up, and he smiled against her hair. She was about to ask him more about himself when someone tapped her elbow politely and asked her for the next dance, and Bellamy gracefully bowed out. She watched him go with a smidge of regret - he was easily the most charming person she’d met so far this evening, and she wouldn’t have minded continuing to dance with him for a few songs more.

The next few partners were polite, but dull, and before long she found herself wishing the night would end.

Luckily, those sorts of events don’t generally become all-out ragers, and people began to trickle after ten, by which time she’d danced with everyone she had to and was happily ensconced by the punch bowl with Wells and Murphy.

“So, who’s the next Mr or Mrs Griffin?” Murphy asked.

“No comment.”

“Who was that cute guy you were dancing with earlier?” Wells said, less teasing and more actual interest.

“No comment.”

“You sure you’re a princess and not a politician?”

“No com-”

“-I’m with Wells, who was the big old hunk of man meat?”

Wells scrunched up his nose in distaste. “I mean, I’m glad you’re with me on this, but if you ever use that phrase again I’m going to vomit directly on your face.”

They both turned to her expectantly.

She took a long draught of punch before she answered. “Bellamy. Very nice. Not in the catalogue.”

“So you can’t marry the big old-”

“Vomit. On. Your face.” Wells reiterated.

“I can marry who I like, it’s just odd that he wasn’t in the catalogue. He’s here, so presumably it’s for a reason - unless he broke in - and yet Diyoza didn’t put him on the list of eligible bachelors.”

“Maybe he’s not one - maybe he’s got a girlfriend, or he’s engaged or something.” Murphy suggested kindly.

“Not the way he was flirting with Clarke he isn’t.”

“Alright, maybe he’s going to have a broken arm by the end of the night.” He said, getting irate at the mere _idea_ of someone hitting on Clarke while they were engaged to someone else.

Wells shot him a look before swiftly dragging them back to the topic Clarke so desperately wanted to avoid. “Not the point. Have you at least got _some_ contenders?”

Not for the first time, or even the fiftieth time, that night, she wished that the punch had been spiked with something stronger. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple. I’ll make Diyoza draw up dossiers and then you two knuckleheads can help me pick one out.”

Her friends could tease all they wanted - and they did - but both of them knew how miserable she was about the whole situation, so they quickly steered the conversation to other things. They spent the rest of the evening ranking moustaches from best to worst, and chatting with Monty and Jasper whenever they swung by with food trays.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad evening.

Which was possibly why her guard was down the next morning, and the massive bombshell that the morning news delivered ended up with her smashing her coffee cup on the floor in shock.

_“...Viscount Pike emerged from parliament fifteen minutes ago to announce that if Princess Clarke didn’t marry by the date of her 21st birthday, he would not only prevent her from becoming queen, but would forcibly usurp Queen Charmaine. A **bold** statement from the viscount, who has been openly against Princess Clarke’s proposed leadership since she was first brought to Arkadia. He feels the daughter of the late brother of the queen, who did not even know of Arkadia’s existence until her teens, has no right to take the throne, and that his nephew - who has lived among the citizens his whole life - should rule in her place.”_

And there he was, in the corner of the screen when the reporter talked about the viscount’s nephew - younger, and with no gel taming his curls, but it was unmistakably him.

_Bellamy_ was trying to usurp her throne.

And there was hot coffee seeping into her socks.

Not a great start to a Saturday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whaddya think? Worth continuing?
> 
> One part down, three to go!! 
> 
> Your kudos and especially your comments make me as happy as Jasper with some spiked punch in hand on a work night.


	2. move with me (or get out of my face)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy comes to stay in the castle and Clarke starts looking for a potential spouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@scottmcgivemeacall aka @goddess-clarke](https://goddess-clarke.tumblr.com/) was the second person to ask for this au and I am HAPPY TO OBLIGE HER, I hope you like it babe <3 <3 <3 
> 
> chapter title comes from Techno Fan by The Wombats!

It had taken the combined efforts of Wells, Murphy, and some of Jasper’s _mystery cupcakes_ to distract Clarke from the slightly crushing realisation that the nicest guy from her birthday party was actually a sneaky, throne-stealing bastard, and she ended up draped across a fancy couch with her feet in Wells’ lap.

“You didn’t know.” He said kindly.

“But I _liked_ him. I thought he was _nice.”_

“Maybe he _is_ nice.” Murphy pointed out. He was lying on the floor with his legs up against the wall, head tilted so he could see her. “You can be nice and still be a dick.”

“Philosophy with John Murphy.” Wells said sardonically. “Come for the wisdom, stay for the attitude.”

Jasper shrugged. “He’s not wrong though. Monty and I went to school with him, and it was a few years ago, but back then he was a pretty chill dude.”

“Not. Helping.” Clarke pulled a cushion over her face, hoping she could smother herself to death with it.

“Queen Dee won’t let them do this.” Monty said from his place on the coffee table in front of her, peeling the wrapper off a cupcake. “It’s crazy.”

_“Queen Dee,”_ a stern voice said from the doorway, “can’t do anything about it.”

They all looked around and Clarke put the cushion down and sat up a little. “So parliament looks like it went well.”

Diyoza was practically seething with anger - her arms were folded over her prim and proper suit and her spine was deadly straight - but for once, the annoyance wasn’t with Clarke or her friends, despite the general state of insanity she’d just found them in. “I’m going to have Viscount Pike assassinated.”

“Well, that’s one way to solve a problem.” Wells deadpanned.

She sat down in one of the armchairs and poured herself a glass of brandy. “He called Clarke a _Pin-up Aryan Princess.”_

“He didn’t?” Monty’s jaw dropped.

“Oh he did.” She shook her head, frustrated. “He tried to play the race card, like the fact that Clarke is blonde means that she’s racist by default and would therefore be a bad queen. And it was working on some of the parliament members. Honestly, I understand why, it’s just… underhanded.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Clarke asked.

Diyoza threw back the last of her brandy and levelled a wary stare at her. “We’re gonna play it his way.”

“What does that mean?” Jasper stage-whispered.

“I invited Pike’s nephew to come live at the house.” She announced. “This way we get a headstart on any rumours Pike wants to spread about racial bias, and we can spend the next year trying to show this nephew that you’re just as good of a candidate to rule over Arkadia as he is. Maybe we can dissuade him from trying to snatch the throne from you.”

Clarke fell back against the couch and rammed the cushion into her face, screaming into it.

“I think she needs another cupcake.” Murphy remarked.

* * *

“You’ll be polite?” Diyoza checked, for the hundredth time.

Clarke smoothed down the front of her dress, expression deceptively calm. Bellamy was supposed to arrive any minute, and she was expected to smile and greet him like she would anyone else. Wells and Murphy were standing off to the side, also re-dressed in nicer clothes and wearing pleasant smiles. It was weird. It was uncomfortable. She wanted the floor to swallow her whole. “Yes, I’ll be polite.”

One of the maids entered the hall, curtseying. “Viscount Pike and Lord Blake.”

As the men walked in, Clarke took note of Bellamy’s grimace when the maid announced him, and she wondered why that was.

“Ah, Queen Charmaine, thank you for your hospitality.” Pike said, practically forcing the words out between his teeth. “I’m sure my nephew will have a very productive stay here.”

That was a threat if ever Clarke had heard one.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Bellamy said, stepping forward. He, at least, sounded sincere - although whether that sincerity was fake was yet to be seen.

DIyoza waved a hand. “Not at all. Have either of you met my niece?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.” Pike said, bowing slightly and extending his hand for Clarke to shake. “You’re even prettier in person, Princess.”

She tried to smile back.

Bellamy took her hand the moment Pike stepped away. “It’s very nice to see you again, Princess.”

“Wish I could say the same.” She snapped, squeezing his knuckles like a vice, before she dropped his hand and spun on her heel, storming from the room.

Murphy and Wells both low-fived her as she passed, and Jasper was smothering laughter behind his hand, while Pike hissed something to Diyoza about ‘royal manners’ and the Queen apologised on Clarke’s behalf.

She ended up in the kitchen, eating raw cookie dough directly from the bowl, and sulking.

“Well, that was mature.” Diyoza sat down across from her. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Clarke had the decency to feel a little bit bad about her behaviour. “I know, I know, sorry. I just… He was so… He just made me mad.”

“You’ll have to apologise.”

“But I-”

“-Clarke, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough: this isn’t an innocent invitation, this is a battle strategy. And your little stunt has us starting at a disadvantage.”

“Fine.” She stuck her finger back in the bowl.

“And don’t let Roan catch you eating his cookie dough, or even _I_ won’t be able to save you.” She teased, squeezing her shoulder as she strode from the room.

Clarke groaned and leaned forward, letting her head hit the kitchen counter.

In all honesty, she wasn’t even sure what made her react so strongly. He’d just been so _nice_ that she felt the need to crack his friendly demeanour a little. She tried to imagine spending an entire year stuck in a house with a ridiculously attractive, charming man who was trying to usurp her, and every possibility felt worse than the last.

“I made that cookie dough for tomorrow’s luncheon, you know.”

She lifted her head, barely glimpsing Roan’s familiar chef’s coat, before she pressed her forehead back to the marble. “Sorry. I can help you make more if you want.”

“I think I can manage without you, Princess.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and his movements as he rummaged around the cupboards, getting the ingredients together.

“Aunt Dee said you’d kill me for touching the dough. Could you just do it and put me out of my misery?” She begged.

“Heard you annoyed Pike’s nephew - that’s penance enough for me.”

“Urgh, you’re no use to me.” She complained.

Roan snorted. “I live only to serve the crown.”

“So do as I say.”

“If you-”

“-Is that any way to talk to the staff, Princess?”

“Ah, you must be the viscount’s nephew. Charmed, I’m sure.” Roan said, the teasing smile completely vanished from his voice. It was a little comforting that the staff didn’t seem to like the idea of Bellamy staying either. “Are you having any more of my cookie dough, Princess, or do you want something a little stronger?”

Clarke straightened. “The Griffin Special?”

He grinned. “One Griffin Special, coming up.”

“What’s the Griffin Special?” Bellamy asked, sitting down on the stool next to Clarke and resting his stupidly attractive forearms on the counter. Bastard.

“Not for crown-moochers.” Roan said archly, turning to grab some malibu from the liquor cabinet.

Clarke choked on a laugh. “Uh, it’s a white chocolate and malibu milkshake. Roan makes them for me when I’m having a hard day.”

“You crushed _my_ fingers.” Bellamy pointed out.

Roan laughed.

“Sorry about that.” She said, with as much sincerity as she could muster.

“No you’re not.”

She glanced at him. “No, I’m not. I asked you who you were at my party and you dodged the question. You lied.”

“I didn’t.”

“You lied by omission.” She tapped her nails on the counter. “I don’t like being lied to, Bellamy.”

He held his hands up in surrender, turning on the stool to face her more fully. “Look, we have to live together for the next year, so how about we say that from now on we have a clean slate? I’m sorry if I upset you, you’re not sorry about your reaction. Now we can move on.”

Roan plonked an enormous sundae glass in front of her, full to the brim and covered in little umbrellas and dessicated coconut. “Now get out of my kitchen and stop eating raw cookie dough; it’s bad for you.”

She took a sip, sighing happily as the drink hit her tongue. “Marry me?”

“Not a chance.” Roan shook his head as he pulled the bowl away from her while she was distracted with the drink. “I’ve never had any desire to be a king, and if I wasn’t working in the kitchen, I’m not convinced you’d remember to eat.”

“Not true, Murphy sends me care packages from college.”

“Oh so you’d eat once a month, that sounds very healthy.” He said sarcastically, and she tossed a little umbrella at him. He flicked it right back, ushering both her and Bellamy out of the kitchen so he could get a head start on dinner.

She started up the stairs, clutching the drink to her chest like a lifeline, and Bellamy made as if to turn down the hallway, but he hesitated in the archway. “If it helps, you’re really not how I thought you’d be.”

“And what did you think I’d be like?”

“Unattached.” He said, and left.

Clarke reached the top of the stairs, took a long sip of the Griffin Special, and muttered under her breath, “What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

* * *

The next week was strange.

She got used to running into him at breakfast and stumbling across him in the library, and the staff got used to listening to them snipe at each other every day.

Her birthday party came and went - her mom flew in the next weekend and returned home in no time at all, but luckily for her, Wells and Murphy were sticking around for a while. Bellamy even managed to refrain from fighting with her long enough to wish her a happy birthday.

“Hey, Princess!” He called out, after her friends had regaled her with the first of _many_ renditions of the birthday song at breakfast. She steeled herself for a debate, but he just handed her a box with a bow on it. “Birthday do-over.”

“Are we sticking with that?”

“I’ll maintain the truce if you will.” He said, smiling at her.

_“That_ was a _truce?”_ Wells asked Murphy loudly. “What would they look like at war?”

“I shudder to think.” Murphy drawled, glancing between the two of them with fascination.

Clarke ignored them, looking at the present. “You really didn’t need to get me anything, Bellamy.”

“I know. But I- I saw it and thought of you. I noticed you reading it in the library the other day, and when I went into town, this was in a shop window.”

She wasted no time opening the box, only to find a cream coloured scarf inside, covered in cursive. She lifted it closer, squinting, and when she realised what it was, she beamed over at him. “Is this Persuasion?”

“You _do_ like Jane Austen, right? I didn’t imagine that?” He asked nervously.

“I love her. I love _this_. Seriously, Bellamy, this is too much.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Princess. Just consider it my full apology for lying to you.”

Bellamy turned to leave and before she could think better of it, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked back, surprised, and she squeezed it once before letting it drop. “Thank you.”

After that, things were easier between them. They still bickered, but there was less of an edge to it, and she found she started looking forward to their daily debates, much to the chagrin of literally everybody else in the house.

For the whole weekend, she managed to forget that he was living in her house because he was trying to take the throne unless she married someone in the next twelve months.

Then, on Monday, Wells dragged her out of bed and into one of the living rooms where Diyoza, Murphy, Monty and Jasper were waiting.

“What’s this?” She asked, confused and still in her pyjamas.

“It’s spouse-choosing day.” Murphy said, waving his hands cheerily.

Clarke slumped. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

She sat down between her best friends, and Jasper started the slideshow.

“Princess Harper McIntyre - not in line for her own throne, but very well connected, and she’s a sweet girl.” Diyoza listed off. “She’s big into children’s charities and heads up a kickboxing class on weekends.”

“She _was_ nice to talk to.” Clarke admitted.

“And she’s gorgeous.” Monty said. She smirked at him and he ducked his head. “Not that that matters.”

Jasper flicked to the next slide.

“Lord Nathaniel Miller, apparently had a rathern tumultuous teen rebellion but has been on the straight and narrow for a few years, and is seen as rather an eligible bachelor now.”

“Narrow yes, straight no.” Wells said.

“Straight as a curly fry.” Clarke and Murphy agreed.

“Alright, moving on.” Diyoza waved a hand. “Lord Kane-”

“-too old.” Jasper said, clicking past him.

“Dame Josephine-”

“-too much of a bitch.” Monty chimed in, earning a sharp look from Diyoza. “What?! You remember when she visited the palace a few years ago?”

The Queen paled. “Moving swiftly on. Lady Emori-”

“-is dating me.” Murphy said.

Clarke gaped at him. “What?!”

“She was at your birthday party the other week. We’ve been texting.” He squirmed a little under her gaze. “I was going to tell you if it got really serious.”

“Uh-huh.” She said, sceptical. She groaned and let her head drop against the back of the couch. “This is hopeless. We need someone available, in the right age range, with a title and a good public image. I give up.”

“What about this one?”

She refused to look, already shaking her head.

Wells sat forward a little. “Actually… he might work.”

Diyoza listed off his credentials. “He plays instruments, fixes cars, does a lot for hospital charities. Plus he’s single, and straight.”

“And hot.” Murphy added.

Clarke peeked at him begrudgingly. Okay, so they weren’t wrong.

“What do you think?” Diyoza asked.

She sighed. “I guess he’ll have to do. So how does this work - do we call him up, organise a date, invite him to live with us for the next year?”

“Funny.” She said, not sounding at all amused. “I’ll get my people to call his people, see what he says.”

* * *

Meeting the guy that she might be marrying in less than a year was… _weird_ to say the least, but at least he acknowledged it.

“This is odd, right?” Zeke said, grinning at her awkwardly over the table.

“A little.” She fiddled with the sachets of sugar in the bowl between them.

They had decided to start off at dinner in one of Arkadia’s premiere cafes, to make sure the paparazzi had plenty of time to hear about it and take photos. Lord Miles Shaw was nice enough - he immediately begged her to call him Zeke instead, which made her smile - and he seemed to want the arrangement for similar reasons to her.

“I never wanted to marry.” He admitted, sipping his coffee. “There was this girl, once… but she, uh… anyway, it was a long time ago. My parents want me to get married to uphold our family name, to make connections between empires, and I agreed but honestly, I just want someone to be friends with.”

“Me too.”

He held her gaze. “So. Friends?”

She lifted her cup to clink against hers, an agreement. “Friends.”

* * *

“Heard you went on a date, Princess.” Bellamy said, jogging up to her as she closed the front door.

“And this is your business, how?”

“It’s not, I’m just interested.”

“Why?”

“He could be our future king, after all.” He said, leaning against a pillar.

“It’s one date, Bellamy.” She wasn’t sure why she was rushing to reassure him that she wasn’t dating anyone. If anything, of all people, she should be rubbing it in _his_ face the most. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to. “I’m seeing how it goes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

“Yeah, actually. He was nice, and funny, and he asked me out again.” She said, brushing past him and towards the kitchen to steal some food before dinner.

She could hear him following her.

“Handsome?”

“Yes.”

“Wealthy?”

“Yep.”

“Interesting?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Why do you care so much?”

He lifted a shoulder, nonchalant. “I’m just trying to picture it.”

“Yeah, well, he’s coming over next week, so you won’t have to wait for the picture for long.”

“That’s sudden.”

“Diyoza likes to know everyone I talk to.” Clarke started walking again, and he fell into step beside her. “It’s the bodyguard training.”

That seemed to be enough for him, and he quietened, but he didn’t stop walking with her. In fact, when she sat down at the counter in the kitchen, he passed her the bowl of cookie dough from the fridge before he took his place next to her. When she looked at him funny, he only smirked and stuck his own finger in it.

“Roan’s gonna kill us.” Clarke pointed out, handing him a spoon.

They dug into it together, and Bellamy nudged her shoulder with his own. “Let him try.”

* * *

Two dates and over a week later, and Shaw finally visited the palace.

He was early, and Diyoza greeted him at the door and showed him into the drawing room, where Clarke and Bellamy were debating over the merits of Marxism as a philosophy, whilst Murphy and Wells took bets on who would win, and Jasper was barely pretending to be polishing the silver while he watched them.

“-look, Princess, I don’t think you’re taking into account the impact that Engels had on-”

Diyoza cleared her throat.

They snapped out of the discussion immediately, and Clarke quickly rose to her feet and kissed Shaw on the cheek in greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smiled warmly at her. “I don’t know what I expected visiting the palace, but it wasn’t philosophical debates.”

“Well, I live to subvert expectations.” She teased.

“Also she and Bellamy can debate _anything.”_ Jasper said, right before Monty yanked him out of the room by his elbow, muttering something about having floors to wax.

“So.” Murphy said, a menacing edge to his voice. “You’re the boyfriend.”

“I guess so.” He said amenably.

“You _guess?”_

“Yes. That’s me.” He corrected. “Good to meet you. The murderous eyes make you Murphy, which means you must be Wells, and the one who really likes Engels is Bellamy.”

Wells shook his hand, always the friendliest. “It’s nice to meet you in person. I was half expecting your photos to be some kind of bizarre catfish.”

“Yeah, it’s weird that you’re as handsome as you are while also being nice. There should be some kind of law against it.” Murphy said, hostility forgotten the moment Shaw sat down next to Clarke. “Leave some good qualities for the rest of us.”

“Oh but you’re already so full of them, Murphy.” Clarke said, and Wells low-fived her.

“Touche, Princess.” He said, knowing how much she hated being called that by her old friends.

Shaw watched them interacting, amused, and turned to Wells. “Is it always like this?”

“Worse.”

“Good to know.” He said, slinging an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and playing idly with the sleeve of her dress. They were still only friends, but practicing at overt affection was probably a good idea, and she leaned into it, resting a hand on his knee.

All in all, he fit in really well with her friends, laughing at all the right stories, swapping anecdotes with Wells, and eventually joining them in teasing Murphy.

It wasn’t until after he’d left, shaking everybody’s hand and kissing her on the cheek, that she realised that Bellamy hadn’t said a single word since he arrived.

And she didn’t know why that bothered her so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! Kudos and comments make me happier than Bellarke mid-debate.


	3. kink in the arithmetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's public image takes a bit of a beating, and weirdly, Bellamy is the one who's there to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@bellamyshope](bellamyshope.tumblr.com) asked for this one, and I COULD NEVER DENY SUCH A BEAUTY!! <3
> 
> chapter title comes from White Eyes by The Wombats and have i mentioned how great they are yet???
> 
> also i had to google how many players to a polo team for this chapter, and i've never felt so out of my class :')

For the next few months, she and Bellamy maintained a careful state of _calm_ around the palace.

Outside the palace, they were perfectly cordial, smiling together for the cameras and generally making sure the press knew that they were perfectly happy living together. Which they were. Kind of.

Bellamy had been _strangely_ polite ever since the day she’d brought Shaw home. But it didn’t feel like a kindness - it was the kind of politeness born out of complete detachment, and she was almost offended by it.

He ate breakfast with her in the morning, when they were the only two people awake before 7am, and he sat across from her in the library some afternoons, but he stopped trying to rile her up, stopped starting debates, stopped glancing her way whenever Jasper did something ridiculous. They were still friendly, and every now and then she forgot that things were weird between them - like when he cracked a joke that only she would understand, or when he leaned over her shoulder to see what book she was reading - but otherwise things were quiet between them. 

Too quiet. 

It was weird but… they’d been _friends_ before Shaw arrived and now they were almost less than acquaintances.

“Pass the juice.” She said. Once again, they were eating breakfast together while the rest of the palace slowly woke up.

He handed the jug over.

“How’s Shaw?” He asked.

“Good. How’s your uncle?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Monty strode in, piece of toast in hand, and sat down next to Clarke. “Clarke I owe you my firstborn.”

She did a double-take. “What?”

“Harper told me that you’re the one who gave her my number.” He said, elbowing her. “She also told me that you said not to say anything.”

She fidgeted a little. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to think you only managed to seduce her because the Princess was influencing things. All I did was give her your number and tell her how great you are.”

“Still. Thank you.” He pulled her into a side-hug. She blushed, but she returned the gesture, and when he sat back, he glanced at Bellamy. “So, Lord Blake, you still on your weird politeness kick?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Monty raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything, and Bellamy went back to poking at his bacon.

Clarke clapped her hands together. “Well, Shaw’s coming by for lunch so I better start getting ready.”

“It’s 7am.” Bellamy frowned.

“And being a woman takes work.” She retorted, downing the last of her juice and getting to her feet.

“You’re going to spend four hours getting ready?” He asked, incredulous.

“Among other things.”

“If you like him, why spend that much time trying to-”

“-because there are paparazzi everywhere and when you’re me, you don’t get the luxury of a bad hair day or a misplaced zit. You look perfect or you don’t leave the castle.” She snapped. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

As she walked away, she heard Bellamy say something like, “How badly did I screw that up?”

Monty just laughed under his breath. “Dude, you’re terrible at this.”

* * *

Clarke's least favourite thing about her position was the mandatory public stunts she had to partake in - cutting the ribbons at gallery openings and smiling prettily near a rose garden - she'd much rather get down and dirty and feel like she was actually making a difference. She knew she had to maintain her public image, but she had no interest in playing it up disingenuously.

Luckily, Shaw was much better at that side of things than she was, and the public took to him like flies to honey.

They were less favourable towards her.

The hate-tweets on twitter and the letters the palace got, she could ignore, but when it was being yelled at her while she was sitting astride a horse about to begin a game of polo - which she barely had any idea how to play - it started to get to her.

She, Shaw, Harper and Emori were on one team, and Bellamy, Miller, Dame Josephine, and Bellamy’s younger sister Octavia were on the other.

From what Shaw said, the teams were pretty evenly matched, and the game began without too much fanfare.

Diyoza sat watching from one end of the pitch, squarely facing off against Pike at the other end, and they seemed to be having some kind of war with just their stoic expressions, which Emori kept poking fun at and making Harper snort as she punted the ball towards the goal.

They were up by two points at the halfway mark, and the umpires called for a five minute break. Clarke watched Bellamy’s sister on her horse, looking right at home on top of the beast, and thought about how uncomfortable she felt riding them.

“You’re doing fine.” Wells said, reading her mind.

“I’m not good at this.”

“Pity.” He raised an eyebrow. “Because what the world needs is more royals who love elitist sports stolen from minorities.”

She shoved him and he laughed, pulling her into a side-hug.

“Okay, I feel better.” She admitted, hugging him back. She felt a familiar arm snake around her waist - Murphy apparently couldn’t let a single hug pass without joining in. Not that she’d ever complain.

Everyone began getting back on their horses, with the exception of Octavia who’d never left hers, and Clarke dragged herself away from her best friends to join them.

Thinking on Wells’ comment, she tried to remind herself that it didn’t matter if she wasn’t good at this game, especially when she accidentally sent the ball towards Miller, who flashed an apologetic smile even as he scored a goal.

She thought she was just about getting the hang of things, when, out of nowhere, her horse bucked. Not expecting it, she didn’t grip hard enough and ended up lying on the floor, more than a little dazed. Her ankle was throbbing and she was covered in grass and dirt, with a long tear down the side of her jodhpurs.

“Clarke, you okay?” Shaw asked, already half off his horse.

Funnily enough, he wasn’t the only one; Bellamy had been at the end of the pitch before she fell, and now he was attempting to dismount his steed not five feet from her.

She touched a hand to her head, refraining from nodding because she knew it would make the spinning worse. “Fine. Uhm. Just a bit bruised.”

Shaw helped her to her feet, and Bellamy calmed her horse, leading it towards the stables while the umpires called for a small break. The crowd started yelling and stomping, complaining that the game was ending so soon, and she felt inexplicably guilty. Shaw walked her over to the bench behind the stables and sat her down, checking for any serious head injuries.

“I think you’ll be alright.” He said, squeezing her shoulder. “But I don’t recommend getting back in the game.”

She couldn’t help but agree, reluctant as she was to bow out, but the pain in her ankle was starting to get distracting. “You might, uh, have to get someone to sub in for me.”

He nodded and jogged back towards the pitch. She was out of view of it, but she could hear Pike on sound kind of tannoy or megaphone, calling out the royals for being ‘weak-skinned’ and suggesting that the game be postponed until she learned how to control a horse.

Luckily, Diyoza responded to Pike’s challenge in her usual, intensely spiteful way, by deciding to sub in for Clarke; defending the royal name.

Clarke felt like she’d let her aunt down, again, and she tried very hard not to cry.

“Hey Princess, you okay?” A familiar voice asked.

She glanced to her left. Bellamy was hovering by the stable gate, looking concerned, and a little fidgety. He was shoving something in his pocket, something long and green coloured, but she barely caught a glimpse of it, and she didn’t much care what it was. She returned her gaze to her feet.

“Princess?” He prompted, stepping closer.

“Fine.” She sniffled, wiping under her eyes. “How’s the horse?”

“Spooked, but he’s okay.” He walked around until he was in front of her, but she refused to look up at him, watching her fingers twist around each other in her lap. “Princess?”

“Just leave me alone, Bellamy.” She whispered, barely holding it together.

He crouched down, hands on her knees, and tilted his head until he met her eyes. “What’s wrong? Is it your head, your ankle, what is it?”

“Nothing, just let it go.”

“It’s not nothing. Clearly there’s something wrong; you’re crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Oh I’m sorry, what do _you_ call it?” He asked, lifting a hand to brush the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. Even after they were gone, he let his hand linger on the side of her face. “Seriously, Clarke, what can I do?”

“You can’t do anything, Bellamy, it’s me, I’m…” The tears pressed against her lashes again and she tried to will them away. “Maybe your uncle’s right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be queen. I suck at this stuff, Bellamy - the primping and posing and playing stupid polo. I’d rather be out there _helping_ and actually feeling like I can do some good, but instead I feel like a poster girl for a relic of society. My dad would be so ashamed.”

“Aw Clarke, c’mon, that can’t be true.” He said, emphatic, like there was no possibility to the contrary. “Any parent would be proud of the person you are.”

“My dad wanted to make a _difference_. He wanted to make the world a better place, and when he died, it’s like that drive in me went with him. I’m useless.”

His palm dropped from her cheek, both of his hands grasping hers. “You’re not. When I first came to stay, I thought you were a pretty princess and nothing else, but I knew I was wrong from almost the first minute in the palace. You put me in my place, you’re friends with all the staff, you don’t see anyone as being beneath you, and you stole from Roan.”

She laughed through her tears.

He smiled. “I promise you, Princess, you’re worth more than just a photo opportunity. You’re gonna change the world. I know it.”

Murphy came jogging over. “Sorry, but, your team is waiting.”

Bellamy sighed, frowning concernedly at Clarke.

“I’m fine, go finish the game.” She said, attempting to wave him off like she hadn’t just poured her heart out to him.

He shook his head. “Princess-”

“-I got her.” Murphy said. “Seriously, go, I’ll make sure she’s alright - we don’t want your uncle coming looking for you and seeing her like this.”

A muscle in Bellamy’s jaw ticked. “No. We don’t.”

_“Bellamy!”_ Pike’s voice called out, closer than it should be.

Reluctantly, he got to his feet, not letting go of Clarke’s hands until the moment he absolutely had to, and traipsed towards the pitch. “Coming, Uncle Charles!”

Murphy stood watching him go for a long minute before he smirked at Clarke. “What was that about?”

“Shut up and comfort me.” She retorted, and he laughed and sat down beside her on the bench, slinging an arm around her neck.

“As you wish, m’lady.” He said, pulling out his phone and pulling up twitter. “Would you believe people have _already_ meme’d your fall?”

“You suck at this.” She rolled her eyes, but she leaned in to look at them anyway.

* * *

It turned out her ankle was sprained and she had a mild concussion, so she was ordered not to do anything too strenuous for the next few days and weeks. Which was surprisingly good for her public image - once the public realised she’d been seriously injured at the polo match, they swung back in her favour, plus Diyoza subbing in for her had meant their team had won by a mile. And she’d still attended photo ops, with a strapped ankle, despite the doctor’s frustration.

But she wanted to do _more._

“You are not going.” Diyoza said, for the fifth time.

“Why not?”

“Because the doctor ordered you not to.”

“He specifically ordered me not to go help build an orphanage?” She countered.

“No, he told you not to do anything strenuous, and being on an active construction site seems like it might qualify.” Diyoza pointed out, sipping her - definitely spiked with something - coffee.

“I am going _crazy_ in here, Aunt Dee. Please.”

“I’ll take her.” Bellamy appeared in the doorway of the study, having overheard their conversation while he was walking towards the library. “It’s in an hour, right? I’m not doing anything; I can make sure she’s not doing anything too dangerous.”

“An impossible task that, if you succeed, might put you in line for a knighthood.” Diyoza said, eyeing him him up. He cracked a smile at the joke, but when he saw the quirk of her eyebrow, he quickly straightened his features, trying to look as serious as possible. It made Clarke laugh, and Diyoza glanced between them, eyes flitting analytically. “Fine. But if she hurts herself, I’m having you beheaded.”

“Seems fair.” He said half-bowing as he left the room.

Clarke watched him go, trying to refrain from smiling at the thought of him slinking to the library to bury himself in the Odyssey. When she turned back to Diyoza, the queen’s serious face was back on, and she frowned. “What?”

“That boy cares about you.”

“He’s my friend.” Clarke felt defensive and she wasn’t sure why.

“Mmhmm.” Diyoza returned her gaze to the papers in front of her. “Get out before I change my mind.”

Clarke booked it out of there, right into the hall where Monty and Jasper were very obviously eavesdropping. They didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

Jasper leaned against a pillar in that gangly, faux-casual way that was so very him. “So, is the dragon letting you leave the tower?”

“I heard that!” Diyoza yelled, making him jump out of his skin, and Clarke and Monty fell about laughing.

When she got her wits back, Clarke shrugged. “Yeah, the dragon’s letting me go - but only if I bring a knight with me.”

“Bellamy’s barely a knight - he’s more like your prince.” Jasper said thoughtfully.

Monty muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Or at least he _wants_ to be,” and self-fived with Jasper, and Clarke was fairly sure she’d heard him wrong, so she opened her mouth to ask, when Shaw came striding through the front door.

“Hey Clarke, how’s the ankle?”

“Healing fine.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to be at some kind of charity event today?”

“I am, I’ll head off in a minute, I just thought I’d, uh…” He trailed off. “Want to take a walk?”

She blinked.

He looped an arm around hers and she nodded, allowing him to lead her towards the rose garden. As they walked, he leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “There are paparazzi outside the fence on the east side, I saw them as I came in. I was going to warn you about them, but I figured… it’s only three months until you turn 21, so what about if I propose now? It looks natural, like I did it in private, but the vultures get their shots to publicise?”

“Zeke, don’t let this go to your head, but you’re a genius.” She muttered.

“Too late, my ego is inflating as we speak.” He joked, stopping them in the victorian gazebo - right in the center of the garden, and in full view of the wall where the photographers were hiding. He held both of her hands, and slowly dropped to one knee. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Miles Shaw.”

He looked like he was trying not to make a face at her, and she grinned down at him in amusement. He pulled a small box from his pocket and flicked it open, revealing a gold-banded diamond ring. She didn’t like it, but she had a feeling Shaw didn’t either; it was the kind of ring that was befitting a princess, but that neither of them would have picked out themselves.

“Will you do me the very great honour of being my wife?” He asked solemnly.

“Yes, I will.” She bent down, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and allowed him to slide the ring onto her finger. When it was perfectly situated, she dragged him up to hug him. “Think they bought it?”

He laughed into her neck. “I’m pretty sure they’re selling shots as we speak.”

They started walking back towards the house, where Monty and Jasper were standing in the doorway, mouths open, and Wells and Murphy were popping a champagne bottle and cheering exaggeratedly through the living room window. But Clarke didn’t notice any of that - she was too preoccupied with the realization that the rose garden gazebo was in full view of the library. And as they walked past the window, she glimpsed Bellamy in his usual chair, book hanging half out of his fingers as he watched them pass, a mixture of shock and something darker on his face.

“Alright, fiance, I’m going off to that charity thing now.” Shaw said loudly as he made for the door, making Murphy choke on his champagne.

“Thank you, fiance, I will eagerly await your return, sitting in solitude and staring at the window until that day.” She replied, equally woodenly, and he laughed as the door swung shut behind him.

“Made for each other.” Wells joked, clinking his glass against Murphy’s.

“Soulmates.” Monty agree, passing the half-empty bottle to Jasper, who swigged it merrily.

“Come on Princess, if you want to get to that construction site anytime today, we need to leave.” Bellamy’s rough voice cut through the cheerful ribbing, and Monty and Wells shared a look.

Clarke turned to find him glaring, annoyingly muscly arms crossed over his equally taut chest. “Give me a minute, I just need to get some work boots.”

She started jogging up the stairs.

“You’re not gonna congratulate the lady?” Murphy drawled. “She just got engaged you know.”

“Shove it up your ass, Murphy.” Bellamy growled.

Clarke grabbed her boots from under the bed and returned to the hall, disregarding the Mexican standoff happening between the two men, and grabbed the back of Bellamy’s shirt. He let her drag him back a step or two before he twisted out of her grip so he could walk beside her.

He didn’t say anything the entire ride over.

Not one word.

He didn’t even look at her, just intermittently scrolled through his phone and looked out the window.

She didn’t acknowledge how much that hurt her.

* * *

Four hours.

That’s how long they spent, working side by side, while she tried to start conversations and he kept to his sullen silence. Occasionally he’d offer a one-word answer to a question, but other than that, he was a wall of irritable glares and frustrated huffs.

At some point, the paparazzi arrived, and she wasn’t sure who had tipped them off, but she tried to ignore them. This wasn’t a photo op, it was a legitimate cause, and she wasn’t going to play up her involvement.

She hammered and lifted, and paced and crouched, and worked up quite a sweat, until her ankle was throbbing and she began to regret putting it under so much strain.

It was during a fairly routine walk between sections that she really felt it buckle, but she gripped hold of the nearest support beam and winced, attempting to will away the pain.

“Princess, you good?”

“Now you care?” She asked, not even bothering to open her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, affronted.

She shook her head and took a shaky step away from his voice. “Forget it.”

When she heard him moving towards her, she opened her eyes, only to find herself face to face with him. It was harder to be mad when his big brown eyes were right in front of hers.

“Clarke, seriously, is your ankle okay?”

“It’s fine, Bellamy, let’s just get back to work.” She said, brushing past him to get to the box of nails, and he seemed to drop it after that. And although she did catch him keeping a closer eye on her the rest of the time they were there, he still didn’t bother talking to her.

In fact, it lasted until they were back in the car on the way home, when he made a discontented noise in the back of his throat and said, “You shouldn’t push yourself just because you think you need to prove something, Clarke.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You don’t need to. The public _does_ like you. I know it seems like they don’t because the hateful voices are always the loudest, but it’s true.”

“That’s not what this was about for me.” She said quietly. “I didn’t do it for the press, I did it for me. For my dad. I did it because it’s who I am, and it’s who I want to keep being when I’m queen.”

He regarded her with something akin to admiration in his eyes, until his expression hardened into that same steel mask he’d been wearing all afternoon. “Suppose you’ll bring Shaw to things like that in the future.”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t really thought about it - he prefers fixing cars and visiting hospitals - but I guess so, if he wants to come.”

“Right.” Bellamy said, like that was the end of the conversation. The car stopped in the driveway and he left the car, striding towards the house.

She felt her ire rising, and she limped to catch up with him, stopping him in the portico with his hand already on the door handle. She grabbed his elbow and tugged him around.

“Hey. Hey! What is your _problem?”_

Bellamy shrugged, snide. “You think marrying some vanilla, non-controversial guy will ensure the public’s trust in you, and that’s not how it works.”

Clarke felt like he’d just punched her in the stomach. After everything over the last few months, all the teasing jabs and comforting eyes and skipped heartbeats, it was like she didn’t recognise the man standing in front of her. Maybe this was who he’d been all along.

And she hated it.

“You do know that the only reason I’m even getting married in the first place is because of a stupid old law that says I am physically incapable of ruling without a man by my side? That the only reason you’re currently living in my house is because you’re trying to exploit that law to kick both me and my aunt _out_ of my own house?” She stalked forward, poking him in the chest, and he actually stumbled back a little.

He opened his mouth, whether to say something or simply in surprise, she wasn’t sure, but she forged ahead regardless.

“So yes, Bellamy, I will marry the vanilla guy, to appease your uncle and to make sure I start my reign doing everything I possibly could to uphold what the people want. This isn’t _fun_ for me Bellamy. I don’t get to be in love. That’s out of the cards for me - I have to put my happiness aside for the good of the kingdom - so all I can hope for is someone I _like_, and I _like_ Shaw. So the next time you feel like turning your nose up at a perfectly decent human being, how about you just-”

But she didn’t get to finish her tirade because, quite unexpectedly, Bellamy had pushed her against the nearest pillar and was kissing her with everything he had. Her heart leapt and her eyes closed and she leaned into it, her brain so scrambled that she couldn’t come up with a single reason why she shouldn’t.

Her hands instinctively gripped at his lapels, but she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to drag him closer or shove him away. Before she had a chance to decide, he broke the kiss, still boxing her in, but leaning back enough to see her face.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked.

That was a surprise.

“Is that how you start all your apologies?” She asked, annoyed at how breathless she sounded.

He shook his head. “Look, I’m gonna move out, okay? Pike convinced me that you were bad for the kingdom, but I haven’t believed that since the first week I lived here. You’re gonna be a great queen, and I’m really glad I can be around to see it.”

“You’re bowing out?”

“Yeah. You win.”

She frowned up at him. “I didn’t want to_ win.”_

“I know.” He grinned. “That’s why you win.”

“You’re impossible.” She said, but her hands trailed up his lapels and ended up on his neck, keeping him close. “But you don’t have to move out. You can stay here, hang out, do whatever. I’ll… I’ll miss you, if you go.”

“But I should.” He said seriously, thumb stroking her waist as he spoke. “To show to public that I’m not contesting your rule anymore. And I should apologise. Publicly. And to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I was a dick today, the least I could do is apologise.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry for being rude to Shaw, and for not realising how much my presence was hurting you, and for… for kissing you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you really sorry about that one?”

He hesitated. “Only that I didn’t ask permission.”

“Okay. So ask permission.”

A slow smile crept over his face. “Princess, can I kiss you?”

“Absolutely not.” She said, and then yanked him against her so she could kiss him passionately.

And for a moment, it didn’t matter that this was a terrible idea, or that she just got engaged, or that this wasn’t ladylike behaviour; for a moment, she was actually happy.

Then the photographer’s flash went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i'm such a dick, i'm sorry


	4. This Time The Good Stuff Could Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love confessions and weddings - not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@foreverandalwayscrysis](foreverandalwayscrysis.tumblr.com) last but not REMOTELY least, my bitch eisha asked for this au, so the final chapter is dedicated to you my love. <3
> 
> the chapter title comes from Cheetah Tongue by The Wombats and i uhhh love them, have I mentioned???
> 
> ANYWAY, CHEERS TO THE FINAL CHAPTER AND I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT!!! <3

The flash tore through the moment, and Clarke pushed Bellamy away, eyes darting around the property for the camera and its owner.

Bellamy looked confused, squinting around, but she wasn’t paying him any attention, too busy searching for the-

“There you are.” She hissed, stomping towards the hedgerow, which rustled intensely, and then a streak of dark clothing went sprinting out of it and disappeared out of the palace gates.

“Shit.” Bellamy said, paling.

“Did you know he was there?” Clarke asked.

“What?! What kind of a question is that?” Bellamy asked, more than a little affronted.

“The kind that needs an answer.” She said slowly.

His jaw dropped. “Clarke.”

“Answer the question, Bellamy.”

“NO. Of _course_ I didn’t know he was there.” He finally said, but by that point, the seed of doubt was firmly planted in Clarke’s mind.

“Did you just kiss me because you wanted to publicly disgrace me, and end my engagement?”

“No! I mean… yes, I wanted you to end your engagement, but that’s not-”

“-I need to tell my aunt.” She cut him off, walking past him and into the palace foyer, aiming for Diyoza’s office.

Bellamy caught her around the waist but she shook him off. “Clarke. Hey, Clarke, will you just _talk_ to me? What do you need? What can I do?”

“Right now, Bellamy, I just need you to give me some space.” She said, voice quiet and aloof, and he took a big step back, hands out and down in a kind of surrender.

“Okay.” He said, letting her move away from him.

Her mind was spinning wildly.

What if he _knew_ the reporter was there. What if he _called_ the reporter? What if all of it was a ruse to get her to fall for him just so he could have the throne? She wanted to crawl under her bedcovers and never emerge.

She managed to hold herself together until she closed the office door behind her. Diyoza looked up, worried from the moment she saw Clarke’s face. “Whoa, who died?”

She slid down the door, sobbing into her hands. “I screwed_ everything_ up.”

* * *

Hours later, Clarke was sitting in bed, Wells on one side, Murphy on the other. They’d been ordered not to turn on the news, but no-one could stop Murphy from doing anything, and he was currently channel hopping to try and find which network broke the story on Clarke and Bellamy first.

Diyoza had taken charge from the second Clarke managed to get the story out. She’d consoled her, promised her that it would be okay, and then she told her she would handle it.

There were a flurry of phonecalls made, and Bellamy had left - moved out completely in under an hour - so it was like he’d never been there. Diyoza wanted him gone so she could work out whether or not he was to blame, and apparently he’d gone willingly, tried to comply with everything she ordered him to do. Clarke had been kept away from him, so she only knew that because of Monty and Jasper’s recounting of events, which might not have been accurate, considering their friendship with him; not that she ever thought they’d lie.

Roan had brought her a huge Griffin Special, but she hadn’t even brought herself to touch it.

“Shit. Found it.” Murphy said, remote still hovering in the air.

The news anchor looked smug, discussing the ‘rampant disloyalty’ of the queen-to-be, and ‘if she can’t be loyal to her new fiance, how can we expect her to be loyal to the crown’ and even displaying a time lapse of the time between her engagement photos and the shots of her kissing Bellamy.

The one thing they _didn’t_ have, was Bellamy’s name.

The photos didn’t show his face, just his back, and then the clear picture of Clarke’s face came from when she had shoved him away and was standing out in the open, looking for the photographer.

“He’s not in them.” She said, a small hole carving itself in her heart. “It looks like I’m just cheating with some random guy. Bellamy’s completely free and clear.”

“Vultures.” Wells muttered, hugging her closer. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass.” Murphy said darkly.

“Dude.”

“Sorry; I’m gonna kick _all their asses.”_

“Not the point.” Wells said, shooting him a look, and Murphy glanced down at Clarke.

“Right. Sorry. Wanna kick _my_ ass at Mortal Kombat?” He asked, nudging her a little and offering a tentative smile.

She sat up a little and nodded. “Bring it on.”

“That’s the spirit.” Wells said, still hugging her as Murphy moved to set it up and grab the controllers. “I’ve got the next match against the winner.”

“Deal.” Murphy tossed Clarke the second controller.

* * *

For a few hours, she managed to forget that the entire world thought she was a cheating harpy.

And then Shaw poked his head in her room.

Wells and Murphy made really, _really_ lame excuses to leave and practically sprinted out the door while Shaw came and sat down on the mattress in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

“Am_ I_ okay?” She asked, incredulous. “You’re the one getting cheated on!”

“Clarke we knew from the beginning this was more about image than anything else - don’t get me wrong, as your friend I’m super pissed you didn’t tell me you were in love with Bellamy, but as your fiance I’m just glad you finally got some action.”

She spluttered. “I’m- but- if- Shaw I’m not in love with Bellamy.”

He shot her a look. “You cannot possibly be that deep in denial.”

“He betrayed me.”

“And it hurts, right?”

She nodded, sniffling a little.

“It hurts because you _care_, Clarke. You can’t just turn it off.”

“Stop being so logical. Be mad at me, I made our marriage look like a farce!”

“It _is_ a farce. Look, I’m still in love with my ex-girlfriend from college who broke up with me so she could join NASA’s astronaut program and live on the ISS, and you’re in love with the guy who’s trying to steal your throne; no-one’s saying we’re normal. But this is what we are.”

“You still wanna marry me?”

He answered her question with a question. “You still don’t wanna get married?”

“We’re certainly a pair.” She sighed, flopping back against the pillows. Shaw glanced at the controller in her hand and the one Murphy had left on the bed when he disappeared. A slow smile stretched over his face.

“Yes we are.” He shuffled over the mattress until he was propped up next to her. “Murphy and Wells are hardly opponents for you, they’re terrible at Mortal Kombat - want a real battle?”

She smiled wanly at him. “You’re so on.”

They were halfway through the round when Diyoza knocked, striding through without an answer. Shaw paused the game and they waited expectantly.

“Provided that Shaw is still onboard, my suggestion is that we move the wedding up.” Diyoza said, arms folded, finger tapping against her elbow. “I’ve already released a statement to the press demanding that they release all the footage and photos-”

“WHAT?!”

“-because you and Bellamy both told me that he kissed you first and they deliberately released it to make you look like the initiator - Bellamy kissed _you_, and the photos and footage will _prove_ that. There’s no proof you wanted that kiss to happen.”

“I kissed him back.”

“I am well aware.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising; you liked a guy, you kissed him, it’s perfectly fine. Now we need to control the narrative, and that’s what I’m doing. I checked with Bellamy, and seeing as the footage doesn’t prove it’s him, he’s fine with it.”

“I screwed up.”

“Honestly I’m surprised it took this long; that boy’s been giving you fuck-eyes for months.”

Clarke screwed up her nose. “Please don’t say ‘fuck-eyes’.”

“Melty-heart-eyes.” Shaw suggested.

Diyoza nodded. “Cheesy-rom-com-eyes.”

“Gross-amounts-of-love-and-affection-eyes.”

“Truly disgusting I-want-you-to-top-me-eyes.”

“Oh my god, I’m just gonna go jump out this window now.” Clarke whined, and Shaw caught her by the back of the shirt as she tried to throw herself off the bed.

“Sorry.” Diyoza said, sounding less than apologetic. “Anyway, we’re having the wedding next Saturday - be there or be square.”

She half-saluted and left the room.

Shaw shook his head. “Your Aunt is so weird. I love it.”

“Me too.” Clarke admitted quietly.

“Heard that!” Diyoza yelled through the door.

* * *

The day of Clarke’s wedding arrived, and while she was in the palace, being cinched into a dress and panicking about her future, Bellamy was across town, thinking about the past.

“What are you doing?” Octavia snapped, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips.

He sighed, sinking further into the couch. “Leave me alone, O.”

“No. Why are you still here?”

“Where else should I be?”

“Uh, with Clarke?”

“Why would I go and watch the woman I love get married to someone else? I might not like myself very much right now, but I don’t need to subject myself to torture.” He grumbled, pointedly not looking at the open invitation on the table.

“You’re an idiot.” Octavia snapped. “Clarke _likes you._ I don’t know if she loves you, but she kissed you back. She _kissed you back,_ Bellamy, and now you’re just gonna let her marry some other guy?!”

“I’m not _letting_ her do anything. It’s _her_ decision and I refuse to get in the way of that.”

“Bellamy if you think that _any_ of this was Clarke’s decision, then you need to get your eyes checked. I love Uncle Charles, but what he wants for the kingdom and what’s actually good for the kingdom are two very different things. He’s trying to do the right thing but he’s going about it in all the wrong ways. The only reason Clarke is even going through with this stupid wedding is because he’s basically holding her crown hostage, and she thinks you’re on his side. If you just _told her_ how you _feel-”_

“-it wouldn’t change anything. She’s putting the kingdom first. As she should; she’s going to be a great queen.”

Octavia kicked him in the shin.

“What the hell, O?!”

“From now on, every time you say something moronic, I’m going to kick you.” She said, kicking him again for good measure.

“She _is_ going to be a good queen- OW!”

“No, she’s not.”

“I thought you liked Clarke?”

Another spike of pain lanced through his leg. Octavia’s boots were heavy.

“Why do you think Pike decided to go to the wedding? If he was really admitting defeat, he’d stay here, or be calling parliament into session for one last ditch effort to stop it. What do you think that means?”

Pike had left for the church not half an hour previously and would surely be there by now - presumably sporting front row seats - and Octavia was right. Bellamy didn’t trust the gleeful glint in his eyes as he’d left; it was far too suspicious. Pike shouldn’t be happy if he was _losing_; he should be furious. Bellamy didn’t trust that look one bit.

He thought about Pike’s insistence that Bellamy deserved the crown, even _after_ he saw the kindness Clarke displayed - labelling it as an act for the cameras.

He thought about the public way Pike called out the queen, even after he’d been in parliament with her, throwing down the gauntlet on national news.

He thought about the small plastic snake he’d found in the grass at polo when he was leading Clarke’s horse back to the stables to calm it down.

He thought about the slip of paper he’d found the night he arrived back home, slipped under a lamp, listing off prices next to names of paparazzos.

And he thought about his parents, and how disappointed they’d be in him if he walked away from the woman he loved.

Pike was planning something.

And he had to stop him.

* * *

Clarke was freaking out.

On the outside, she looked calm, collected, ready for anything.

But internally, she’d been screaming nonstop since she woke up.

She let people do her makeup and fix her hair and help her into her dress, but the whole time she was trying to imagine the various ways she could kill herself with hairpins and eyebrow brushes.

There were twenty minutes until she was supposed to walk down the aisle, and the only people left in the rooms were Wells, Murphy, Jasper and Monty, and the latter two were offering her weed brownies and tequila shots every five minutes.

Wells and Murphy were standing at opposite ends of the room, conspicuously in front of the only exits, and kept doing that thing where they shared concerned looks over her head. It was really annoying.

“What?!” She finally exploded at them, halfway through her fifty-eighth lap of the small mirrored room.

“Don’t be mad.” Wells started.

She stalked forward, eyes a little crazed, and he pressed back against the door instinctively. “Mad about _what_ Wells?”

“Bellamy didn’t know about the photographer.” Murphy said in a rush.

She spun around to glare at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Diyoza looked into it - the payment was in cash, and it happened at the docks in the afternoon, when Bellamy was with you. He didn’t know.”

“I…” She faltered, arms dropping limply to her sides.

Jasper leapt forward, brownie in hand, but she waved him off again.

“Are you okay?” Monty asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Do you want me to call him?” He held up his phone.

“No.” She whispered. “I made my choice. I’m putting the kingdom first.”

“But if you-”

“-I need a minute.” She gasped, dodging around Murphy and jogging down the hall. She ducked into a closet, closing the door firmly behind her and revelling in the sudden darkness of the tiny space.

She couldn’t breathe. It hit her like a bullet train - she was in love with Bellamy. She loved his stupid face and his ability to debate _anything_ with her, and the fact that he noticed things no-one else cared about. She loved the crease between his brows that only disappeared when he smiled, and the curve of his fingers when he turned a page in the books he read, sitting next to her in the library. She loved that he slotted into her life like he’d always been there, and that her friends loved him, and that even Diyoza seemed to approve. She loved _him_. She loved Bellamy and she was marrying someone else and she was going to be queen soon, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t…

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t marry Shaw.

Clarke looked down at her wedding dress in the dark.

Well, this sucked.

She emerged from the closet, peeking around the door, and upon finding the corridor empty, she took a deep breath and started walking towards the church - only to walk directly into Shaw. He was going the other way, and when they bumped into each other-

_“I can’t marry you.”_ They said in unison.

“Oh.” She said.

“Well.” He agreed.

“At least we’re both in agreement.” Clarke teased, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the wall. “So, I’m in love with Bellamy.”

He nodded, clearly a step ahead of her. “Raven called me last night.”

“The International Space Station not far enough away to miss the news of your engagement?”

“Apparently not.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I'm actually pretty sure that Pike told her? Which sucks. But... she told me she’s been missing me ever since she left, and that she’s back on Earth for the next week, and that she thinks we can make it work while she’s up there, and I… I never got over her. I can’t let this chance slip through my fingers, especially not if it means standing in the way of you and Bellamy.”

“You’re a good guy, you know that Zeke?” She rested her head on his shoulder.

They stood there in silence for a moment, just sitting in the enormity of their confessions.

“What are we gonna do?”

“Make a run for it?”

“God, I wish.” He nudged her foot with the toe of his shoe. “Seriously, Clarke, what’s the plan?”

She sighed. “You should run; I’ve got to stay and address the people.”

“I’m not leaving you to do that on your own.” He said, looking offended at the very suggestion. She rolled her eyes, but conceded, and the two of them walked towards the main church, arm in arm.

When they arrived together, the entire congregation twisted to see them walking up the aisle. It was… awkward. To say the least. Shaw sat down next to Diyoza, who was looking characteristically smug next to Wells and Murphy, and Clarke continued up to the podium.

She faced her people.

“I’m not getting married today.” She said clearly.

A gasp tore through the crowd.

“The only reason I got engaged in the first place was to keep my crown, and if that’s the kind of archaic thing this kingdom stands for, I don’t want to be queen of it. I’m not a Pin-Up Princess, or a photo opportunity, or a figurehead. I want to make a difference. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do - and I don’t need a man, or a woman, by my side to do it. I shouldn’t be forced to settle for a friend, just because you don’t believe I can rule on my own. Queen Diyoza has been doing it for decades, and Arkadia has _thrived.”_

A slow murmur of agreement rippled across the church.

“I love Arkadia. When my dad died, I thought I lost my home. And then I turned sixteen and Diyoza told me what family I belonged to. I came here and it was like… I found my dad again. I found my home. I found who I was supposed to be. Forcing love doesn’t work. Love takes you by surprise, and it makes you feel at home, and it messes with your head. Marrying someone for the image is not what I stand for. I stand for Arkadia; for my home. For love.”

It was cheesy, sure, but she found that she meant it more than anything she’d ever said, and the crowd looked like they were starting to agree with her, if the nods and muttering were anything to go by.

“Cute.” Pike stood up, voice raised. “But that doesn’t change that if you don’t get married in the next few months, you can’t rule. This _spectacle_ has shown nothing but contempt for our kingdom. And there’s another heir who _does_ respect Arkadian tradition, who is willing to step up.”

“Oh no there isn’t!” A shrill voice rang out, and once again, every head in the church swivelled towards the entrance.

Octavia Blake was standing there, motorbike helmet in hand, and a defiant look on her face.

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Oh I know. Bellamy’s busy punching out the photographer you paid to take photos of him kissing her.”

Gasps rocked the room and voices started rumbling over each other.

_“It was **Bellamy** she was kissing?”_

_“**Pike** paid off the photographer?”_

_“Did she say **punching**?”_

Clarke’s heart started racing.

But Pike wasn’t done.

“Octav-”

“-You don’t want what’s best for Arkadia, Uncle Charles. You just want it _your_ way. And the funny thing is, if you hadn’t been so busy trying to take Clarke down, you would have noticed.”

“Noticed what?” He asked, sceptical.

“That you didn’t need to.” Bellamy’s voice carried as he stepped into the church, panting slightly, his shirt rumpled and his hair a mess. He was shaking his right hand out, so apparently Octavia wasn’t exaggerating about the punching thing. Clarke thought he looked gorgeous.

Pike scoffed. “What?”

“I’ve been in love with Clarke for months. I would have married her whenever she wanted.” He said, eyes locked on hers.

Her heart stumbled over itself.

The crowd was in uproar, but she couldn’t hear it over the pounding in her ears, and she couldn’t see anything except those earnest brown eyes.

He was still talking, walking down the aisle purposefully as he did, gaze flicking down to his uncle. “But she shouldn’t have to. If I took her throne, I wouldn’t have to. It’s a stupid, old rule, that none of you would want to uphold if it was your life you had to give up.”

A few people nodded, and favour was clearly beginning to sway back towards Clarke.

“Clarke is going to be an incredible queen. She’s got plans on top of plans and all she ever wants to do is help people. Look at how much she’s already sacrificed. Being in charge is a thankless job and she doesn’t care because she’s never asked for thanks. So I refuse to take the crown.”

“So do I.” Octavia chimed in.

“And, as a citizen of this great nation, I move that we abolish that stupid law so Clarke can rule unimpeded, because I, for one, will not be able to take my eyes off her.”

“Seconded.” A politician from the fifth row stood up.

“Yeah!” A few more people got to their feet - bankers, doctors, teachers - just citizens of the kingdom, people who wanted to help. One by one, more and more people stood up, until nearly the entire congregation was on their feet, calling out in agreement.

The rest of the cabinet stood up as one, and the Prime Minister spoke on their behalf. “We pass that motion into law, and from this day forward, no female regent will have to compromise her independence for the sake of an archaic practice.”

A cheer erupted, and Clarke was tackled by her best friends as loud music started blasting - Jasper’s doing, no doubt - and everybody started to dance. It became a spontaneous ball in seconds flat; if there wasn’t going to be a wedding, nobody was going to waste the opportunity to party. Clarke laughed as Murphy dragged Jasper into an exaggerated tango, and Monty danced with Harper and Miller while Octavia cackled at her uncle’s clear consternation with the whole thing. Wells and Monty were still cheering her, shaking the hands of every politician in the cabinet, Roan was offering food to everyone, and Diyoza was grinning from her place in the front row, lounging contentedly.

In the middle of it all, Clarke glimpsed Bellamy’s mess of curls disappearing out a side door, and she looked to her aunt.

Diyoza snorted. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for - go get the guy.”

She gathered her skirts in her hand and slipped out the other way, looking for the nearest exit without having to push through the crowd.

She burst into the corridor, only to see Bellamy’s back retreating into the distance.

“Hey.” She called out. “Hey!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly until he was facing her and she jogged up to him, leaving barely two feet of space between them. And it still felt like too much. She took another small step forward.

“You’re not gonna congratulate me then?” She asked, a teasing smile lingering in the corners of her mouth.

He hesitated. “On your failed engagement?”

“Yeah.” She said, swaying closer. “On my failed engagement.”

“Congratulations, Princess.” He murmured, eyes darting down to her lips. “Think the whole thing’s turned you off marriage completely?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s this guy I know that said he’d marry me whenever I wanted.” She took another tiny step towards him, ending up practically chest to chest.

“I don’t know about whenever.” He said, a slow smile creeping into his cheeks as his eyes darted over her face and his hands settled around her waist. “I’m not a big fan of summer weddings.”

“Shame.” Clarke joked, and then they were kissing, and it didn’t matter which one of them initiated it, because there were no photographers to ruin the moment this time.

His arms enfolded her, holding her close and tight, and she flung hers around his neck, fingers finding his hair and his cheeks, and kissed him like she never wanted to move from that spot.

That is, until he took a faltering step forward, feet tangling with hers, and started walking her backwards. Her impact with the wall was softened by his left hand leaving her body to touch the marble, but she was frantic, blindly reaching out to pull it back, and he let her. She was still clinging to his wrist when he cupped her jaw, never stopping the kiss for a moment.

“Bellamy?” She managed, and he hummed in response, still kissing her, teeth catching her bottom lip and making her head spin. “I- Bell-”

He seemed to get the hint, tearing himself away but refusing to go far, stooping a little so he could see her eyes and still stay close. “You okay?”

She smiled, reassuring, and slid her hand up his wrist to where his fingers rested on her cheek, interlacing their hands and pulling it down to hold between them. “You?”

He nodded. “Are you gonna shove me again?”

“Probably.” She squeezed his fingers gently, trying not to make the bruises from punching the paparazzo any worse, but he didn’t remotely look like he cared if it hurt, too busy beaming at her like she hung the moon. Which was probably what prompted her to say, “You should move back in.”

A small frown crossed his brow. “I don’t know if…”

“I love you.” She said, defiant, earnest.

His expression froze for a moment in surprise, and then he laughed, loud and bright. “Well, that’s one way to win a debate.”

“I wasn’t trying to win.” She complained.

“Neither was I.” He grinned, leaning back in. “But it seems like we both did anyway.”

And this time, when he kissed her, she didn’t speak for a very long time.

She wasn’t sure who was stopping anyone from walking into the corridor and seeing them, but she had a feeling their friends were doing some door guarding. They were getting good at that.

* * *

On her 21st birthday, Clarke woke up early.

The light was barely dusting her room, and the world was slowly coming to life outside, but she was wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.

She didn’t know how she felt.

Was it panic?

Relief?

Both?

“You’re gonna make a hole in the ceiling if you look at it any harder.” Bellamy mumbled gruffly, face buried in the pillow next to her.

“How can you even see that?” She whispered.

“Wild guess.” He didn’t open his eyes, but his arm snaked out and pulled her into his side. “Happy birthday, Princess.”

“It’s alright so far.” She conceded, kissing his cheek lightly.

He snuffled, in what could possibly be construed as a laugh at her expense, or a pleased noise at how affectionate she always was in the mornings. “Wait until normal people wake up. Then it’ll really be something.”

Definitely laughing at her then.

And he was half-right; later that morning, when Monty and Jasper kicked the bedroom door open carrying an enormous cake between them, while they joined Murphy and Wells in a very loud and _very_ offkey rendition of ‘happy birthday’, it was certainly something. But waking up in the knowledge that she wasn’t trapped into marriage, while the guy she loved slowly woke up and put on his glasses, keeping an arm around her waist while he reached for a book - and the scrunch of his nose when she jammed her chin into his shoulder to read with him - was damn near perfect.

Diyoza came in shortly after, throwing presents in her direction and collapsing - unladylike - onto the edge of the bed with the others.

Roan appeared with the biggest Griffin Special Clarke had ever seen, and when Jasper asked where the straws to share it were, he produced some smaller glasses of it for the rest of them, to a litany of cheers.

She opened presents and hugged them all, and she sipped the drink that Roan always made so well - her dad’s old recipe, the one he’d taught her before he passed, when he made her promise not to tell her mother he was showing her alcohol, the one that always cheered her up, no matter what. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to it all, and thought about him, and how even though he was gone, she found a home in the place he’d come from.

Before long, all of them - their little weird family - were sitting on Clarke’s mattress, and her phone was blowing up with birthday messages, rom her mother, from Harper, from Emori, and a video of Shaw and Raven singing “For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow” with perfect pitch on a balcony over a beach. Clearly their elopement was going well. 

Bellamy’s phone dinged loudly and he showed her the text from Octavia; “TELL YOUR PRINCESS HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM ME. NOW YOU CAN ASK HER TO MARRY YOU WITHOUT REMINDING HER OF THAT STUPID RULE. YOU BETTER HAVE PROPOSED BY THE END OF THE DAY, DICK FOR BRAINS.”

“Your sister has _such_ a way with words.” Clarke grinned.

“I’m more concerned that she clearly doesn’t know how to turn capslock off.” Bellamy said, kissing her forehead.

“You’re _not_ gonna propose to me today though, right?” She asked quietly, feeling an irrational flash of panic at the idea.

Bellamy made a face at her. “God, no. Give me some credit, Princess, I know you a little better than that.”

“Good.” She sighed, settling further into his side and enjoying the chorus of Murphy, Monty and Jasper arguing over whose cooking was better, only for Roan to smack them all upside the head and threaten to ban them from the birthday lunch he’d spent all morning slaving over.

Diyoza looked to her, a smirk on her face, and said something unexpected. “Your dad would love this.”

Clarked nodded and Wells reached for her free hand. “Yeah. He would.”

“As far as cooking goes, Jake definitely wins.” Wells said, and Murphy had to concede defeat on that one.

“And he would be so proud of you.” Diyoza continued.

Clarke shrugged. “He would be proud of me no matter what. But he’d be happy for me, and that’s what really matters.”

“Well, I’m proud of you.” Murphy said, wiping a fake tear from his cheek and earning a punch to the arm from Wells.

“Damn right.” Clarke said, grinning around at them all. “I’m awesome.”

“No arguments from me.” Bellamy nuzzled against her hair, pressing featherlight kisses to the side of her head. “At least not until you try and debate me over lunch.”

She laughed.

She loved him so much.

She loved them all.

Whether she was a queen tomorrow or in twenty years or never at all, she was happy right there in that moment, with her dysfunctional little royal family and her once-sneaky-throne-stealing-bastard of a boyfriend.

Bellamy was right: this was _something._

It was something worth holding onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHHHHHHHH this story got so much longer than I meant it to be! The whole point of my follower celebration was to limit myself to minifics, and then I somehow ended up with this, but honestly i have NO REGRETS!
> 
> I hope you liked it! And I hope you know that your comments brighten my day, and that it makes me about as happy as a Griffin Special should make anyone. <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddya think laydeez and genteels?


End file.
